


sobriety

by Nacht



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Non-Explicit, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nacht/pseuds/Nacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrations are for other people to be happy, not for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sobriety

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

“I love you,” Maglor slurred.

Maedhros glanced down at where his brother’s head was pillowed against his shoulder and examined him, taking in his flushed skin and shining eyes. The hour was late, though many of their remaining followers were still milling about, enjoying the tail end of their festivities.

Elros and Elrond were fast asleep back in their rooms, long since tucked into bed after hours of dancing and their own small cups of cider had left them as exhausted as they were exuberant. Maglor had been just about sober enough then to carry them both off by himself.

That was very much no longer the case.

“You’re drunk,” Maedhros told him.

Maglor shook his head, nuzzling against his neck. “When’d we decide t'stop speaking those words?” he asked.

Maedhros reached for his glass of wine, abandoned when Maglor had first stumbled into his arms, and drained it in a long swallow as his brother heaved out a hitching, hiccoughing sigh, his overly warm breath trailing condensation across the hollow of Maedhros’ throat.

“You know very well,” Maedhros muttered.

Maglor’s breath hitched again, messy and overly emotional.

Maedhros cursed under his breath and set aside his empty glass, freeing his hand so that he could grasp Maglor’s chin between his fingers and hold him tight. Their eyes met. Maglor’s were wet with unshed tears. Maedhros leaned down and pressed a hard kiss to his forehead, inhaling the familiar scent of alcohol which clung to his skin like a miasma.

He cleared his throat, but did not pull back as he said, “We’ve lost the right to pity ourselves. These displays do not become you.”

He did his best to sound unyielding, but much of his strength was lost as his brother pushed forward against him, acting as though he could wrest affection itself from Maedhros’ touch.

He nearly shuddered.

“And you love too much and too many,” he added, whispering the words in a low, rough growl as Maglor’s tears spilled over at last, tracking sideways across his face until they were lost amidst the darkness of his hair.


End file.
